


A Symphony of Color

by fourdaysofrain



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Love Aunt May or die by my sword, Synesthesia, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourdaysofrain/pseuds/fourdaysofrain
Summary: The first thing Peter does once he can effectively maneuver the compound with his crutches is find a notebook that can fit in his pocket. He grabs a pen from one of the many junk drawers and starts a list of everyone he’s talked to so far.Mr. Stark - Brown, the filling in cinnamon buns, the teddy bear in the baby photo hanging on the fridge.Aunt May - Dusty pink, Grandma Parker’s old couch.Pepper - Silver, fancy necklace chains, handcuffs.He taps the end of the pen against his chin. He needs to talk to more people.---Peter wakes up with synesthesia after a fight.





	A Symphony of Color

He hears a voice _ (cinnamon brown) _cut through his ebbing and flowing state of sleep. 

He frowns. (Or, at least, he thinks he does. To be honest, he isn’t sure if he’s attached to his body currently.) Brown? Weird. He’s not used to hearing that. 

There’s something rubbing circles on the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger. It comes with another voice _ (old rose) _ murmuring somewhere above his head. The sound comes towards him as petals in a spring breeze. He thinks he reaches to grab them. 

(Peter’s hand twitches against May’s as he lays against the stiff sheets of the hospital bed. Tony sees it from the corner of his eye as May quickly straightens against the uncomfortable hospital chair.) 

“Kid, are you waking up?” someone says _ (cinnamon brown again), _and the question zings slowly around his head like an electrical current in slow motion. The words get lost somewhere on the journey from his ears to his brain. 

Something in him knows that he should pay attention to the colorful voices. They float lazily around him, fat bees leaving a dotted-line trail in their wake. The colors are an impression. When he tries to look at them directly they vanish, but if he unfocuses his eyes (an easy feat currently) they dance easily on the back of his eyelids.

The pillowcase slides against his cheek as he turns his head to the side. He might be drooling. He hears a groan. He thinks it might have been his own. He’s tired of moving his eyes to see colors. Being awake, in whatever capacity he is right now, is exhausting. There’s a pair of scissors in front of him, and they make their way to the black threads twisted together in a rope that is coming from his chest. The scissors cut through them with one great _ snip _, and he falls blissfully backward into the inky black silence. 

\---

_ Peter deftly dodges the beam of orange light that came from the sorcerer on the other side of the rooftop as it briefly cut through the night. _

_ “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, but I’m gonna guess it’s something bad,” he says, trying to elicit a response from the sorcerer. Nothing comes in return besides a sneer and another beam of light to avoid. _

_ “Alright, more of a strong and silent type. I get that. We can’t all be endearingly snarky.” He avoids the next shot with a flip, landing too close to the edge of the roof. He teeters dangerously, and that’s the only window the sorcerer needs. _

_ A beam of light straight to the chest. _

_ Falling. _

_ Falling. _

_ Fal-- _

\---

A woman’s voice _ (violet) _ says something as Peter slowly drags himself to consciousness. Again. 

(“I lowered his dosage an hour or so ago. He should be coming to any minute now, but don’t worry if he still isn’t lucid,” Helen Cho tells the small group of people waiting in Peter’s hospital room.)

He tries to move first. It takes a herculean effort to stretch his fingers against whatever he’s laying on. 

Next, he stretches his senses out towards the room like laying out a picnic blanket on a grassy field. 

The first sound to reach his ears is the harsh beeping of a heart monitor to his left. Then he tries to tune into the voices he hears _(violet and cinnamon brown and silver and old rose)_ coming from around the room. Still not quite able to decipher exact words, he just sees an undefined colorful cloud floating on the back of his eyelids. 

He peels open his eyes, each small action a little easier than the one before it. His vision slowly focuses on Tony, who’s standing at the foot of his bed next to a woman in a lab coat. His eyes light up like a lamp behind frosted glass when Peter makes foggy eye contact with him. Peter slides his eyes to the right to see May and Pepper looking at him expectantly. 

He tries to croak out a greeting, but all that comes is a series of colorless garbled consonants hitting against the roof of his mouth.

“May and I will get you some ice chips, Peter,” Pepper says _ (silver) _, helping May out of her chair. They both glance knowingly at Tony and the doctor before leaving the room. Peter’s forehead crinkles in confusion. He swears he just saw something in front of him, a flash of a silver chain, when Pepper spoke. 

“Pete, you’ve met Dr. Cho, our resident Spider-Doctor. Among other things, I’m sure,” Tony says _ (cinnamon brown) _as he motions to the woman on his left. She rolls her eyes. He forces his eyes to focus on her, looking through the strange screen of color. His slowed brain finally puts the puzzle pieces together before his eyes light up in recognition. He’s only seen her when he’s injured, but he knows who she is. He tries to move his eyebrows in what he hopes is the equivalent of a wave. She gives him an amused smile in return. 

“Mr. Parker, you feel off a building last night,” Dr. Cho explains, and purple blooms in front of Peter’s eyes like grapes falling off a vine. He tries to track it with his eyes as he listens to her. “Thankfully it was only a few stories, but you landed on your right leg, breaking it in two places. We had to put you under while we worked on setting and casting it. You’ll have to use crutches for a week or so, even with your enhanced healing factor.” 

He nodded slowly, eyes still bouncing around the room as he wonders where the color came from. 

“Eyes here, kiddo,” Tony motions to his face as a soft red-tinged brown appears in Peter’s vision like ground cinnamon sprinkled on top of hot chocolate in the winter. He ignores it to the best of his ability as he makes eye contact with Tony but eventually gives in to trying to look directly at the colors. 

“What are you looking at, Peter?” Purple grapes dance in his vision, joining the cinnamon sprinkles as they wax and wane with the voices around him. It takes him a moment to understand the question posed, and another moment to decide what to say. 

“Fireworks,” he croaks _ (denim blue) _ through a hoarse throat. He wishes that May and Pepper could come back with the ice chips soon. Blue joins the show of colors as the cinnamon and purple begin to fade. His eyes close without him thinking about it, still not quite there enough to keep up with other people. He watches the purple and brown reappear and swirl behind his eyelids as he slowly dips back into sleep. 

(“He’s still high as a kite,” Tony sighs in disbelief. Helen Cho places a hand on his arm in comfort. 

“He’ll be okay, Tony.”

“He better be,” he responds, rubbing a hand across his face, “I’m going to go get Pep and May.”)

\---

The next time Peter opens his eyes, he is lucid. His head still feels like there might be bits of cotton stuck between a few neurons, but he’s finally able to comprehend the scene around him. There’s light from the late afternoon sun filtering through the window blinds, giving the cast on his leg a set of stripes. He looks over to see Tony dozing in one of the hospital chairs to his right. It’s far from the first time he’s woken up in situations like this. He’s glad that the only injury he has this time is whatever’s up with his leg. 

Peter debates the pros and cons of waking Tony up, but just as he’s about to say something, his eyes blink open. They look at each other for a beat before Tony breaks the silence. 

“How’re you feeling, bud?” His sleep-rugged cinnamon voice falls lightly across Peter’s vision, causing him to frown in confusion. 

“Fine, I--” Peter cuts himself off as a blue that matches his comfiest pair of jeans rises in front of him like oil in a lava lamp. His eyes track it subconsciously; It’s hard to look at directly. 

“Kid, what are you looking at? Is there something Cho missed?” The red-brown in his vision gets more saturated as Tony’s volume increases.

“No, it’s--” the blue returns “--ah. Give me a second.” He scrunches his eyes shut against the colors, only to see them remain as if painted on the back of his eyelids. After a few beats of silence, they fade into nothing.

He opens his eyes again to see that Tony moved his chair closer to where he’s lying. His face is masked with worry. 

“I’m fine,” he knows to stop Tony’s anxiety before it starts. The blue appears again, but he ignores it this time. “There’s just... “

“Just what?” Cinnamon lines of lightning shoot across his eyes.

“Colors? Brown and blue right now. They go away when no one’s talking.” He tries to keep his sentences short, unsure of what the colors mean.

“Cho said it was just the leg,” Tony mutters, and it’s unclear whether it’s to himself or to Peter. “Do you remember what happened?” The brown lightning bolts zip faster around him as if compensating for Tony’s growing anxiety.

“I… I think I was fighting some sorcerer guy, and he hit me with a beam of light like Dr. Strange’s, and then I fell off the roof?”

“Great. I love it when wizards meddle in our business. I’ll have to go through the baby monitor.” He rests his head in his hands as his elbow rests on the metal bar of the bed. The sentence gives way to a companionable silence for a moment. 

“I got an alert,” Tony cuts in sharply, the edges of the cinnamon splashes focusing to become almost like blades, “at 12:30 am. A little robot birdie said my #1 intern fell off a building. I flew over to find him crumpled in the alley like an old oil rag.” He pointedly looks towards the window, avoiding Peter’s gaze. 

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter starts, the blue lava lamp reappearing and upping in speed to match time with his heartbeat. Tony stops him before he can continue, the sharp edge to his voice softening. 

“You don’t need to apologize for getting hurt, Pete. I- We’ve learned that we can’t stop you from doing the right thing. We were just worried. You should get some more rest, you’ve still got a bit of drugs to burn through. Enjoy it while it lasts, because May and I will lecture your ear off when she gets back from work. Until then, I’ve got a magician to call.” Tony starts to move as if preparing to leave, and Peter jolts up a bit.

“You can call him in here,” he blurts out without thinking. He quickly starts to backtrack, “I mean, if you want to. You can leave if it’s private. But I don’t mind the noise.” He smiles sheepishly up at Tony, who returns a small, knowing smile. 

“I’ll be quiet,” he says, punctuating it with a soft pat on Peter’s shoulder. He leans back in the chair, already fiddling with his phone. 

Peter closes his eyes and relaxes into the hospital bed as much as he can. 

Most people count sheep when they try to fall asleep. Peter, on the other hand, imagines himself swinging down an endless city street. He breathes in as he swings upwards, and exhales as the ground rushes toward him. He makes it a few blocks before he can’t keep track anymore, a cloud of subtle cinnamon dust settling over his eyes as Tony murmurs into his phone a few feet away. 

The lecture from May and Tony never comes.

\---

“He’s waking up,” Peter hears a deep scarlet voice announce, entering his vision like the main curtain of a play. 

He groans. He’s starting to hate waking up in a hospital bed. With lucidity comes a dull throb from his leg. He opens his eyes to see a small group of people in the room. Dr. Strange is at the foot of his bed, while May and Tony are to the side. He gives them all a shy smile.

“Morning everyone,” he says with a small, awkward wave. His words cause little blue bubbles to pop up around him as the red fades away. He gets a smirk from May which tells him it is decidedly not morning. 

“How are you feeling, honey?” May’s question brings with it soft, dusty rose-colored spots in his vision, floating softly like clouds. 

“My leg aches a bit,” he ignores a colored remark from Tony, “and I keep seeing colors when people talk to me.” He expects some sort of reaction from that, but May just nods and glances towards Dr. Strange. 

“That’s what I’m here to talk about,” he starts, more red blooming on the sides of Peter’s vision, “we believe that the sorcerer you fought somehow gave you a mild form of synesthesia. Chromesthesia, to be specific-- the instant association of sounds with various visual stimuli. Yours is limited to the association of voices with colors.” He ends his explanation with a flourish of his hands that causes the ring of a bell, and Peter nods. He doesn’t see anything new. 

“That’s kind of--” Peter gets interrupted by Tony before he can finish.

“If you say ‘cool,’ I’m kicking you out of the medbay and you’re healing on your own.” Tony’s cinnamon-colored threat makes Peter stumble on his words.

“Kind of _interesting,_ I was going to say. Did he do anything harmful?”

“Besides causing you to fall three stories?” May says sourly, her tone contrasted by her voice washing pink over the room. Peter scratches his eyebrow and grimaces a bit. 

“Yeah, besides... that.”

Dr. Strange clears his throat and continues with his scarlet monologue, “As far as we can tell, there are no other side effects. There’s no way of knowing if this is permanent or how it will act in the future, but rest assured, I’ll be looking for the spell he used to figure out the reversal. Have a nice day.” He does his _hand thing _ and walks into a portal, causing May to startle and Tony to roll his eyes. 

Peter starts to laugh.

“I just realized, the color of his voice matches his cape.”

Tony and May don’t laugh with him.

“Peter, what did we say about putting yourself in danger?”

“...Did we say we liked it?”

He spoke too soon about avoiding their lecture. 

\---

The first thing Peter does once he can effectively maneuver the compound with his crutches is find a notebook that can fit in his pocket. He grabs a pen from one of the many junk drawers and starts a list of everyone he’s talked to so far.

_ Mr. Stark - Brown, the filling in cinnamon buns, the teddy bear in the baby photo hanging on the fridge. _

_ Aunt May - Dusty pink, Grandma Parker’s old couch. _

_ Pepper - Silver, fancy necklace chains, handcuffs. _

_ Dr. Cho - Violet, purple grapes. _

_ Dr. Strange - Scarlet, his cape, May’s date night lipstick. _

He taps the end of the pen against his chin. He needs to talk to more people. 

\---

Peter starts to get a new appreciation for classical music. He has his Spotify sorted into playlists by activity, but since he started seeing voices as colors, it was easier for him to just stick to his _ Study or Die _playlist no matter the occasion, which doesn’t have a single word to share among the 50+ songs included. And when it’s quiet around him, whether he’s in his room or on the rooftop at night, and he closes his eyes, he swears he can see the colors of the individual notes waltz under his eyelids. 

He keeps eyeing the fancy piano in the common area, wondering if anyone would be mad if he tried to play it. He’s just so _ bored _ with his broken leg. He can’t even get his suit on to _ try _to go patrolling, and he’s on compound-arrest before he gets his cast off so no one from his school can ask why he only had it for a week.

_ Well, _ Peter thinks, glancing around the room, _ ask for forgiveness, not permission. _

He slowly stalks over to the piano and sits at the bench. There’s always sheet music laying in the stand, and he still has a rudimentary sight-reading ability from his years in the school band. He opens the cover, surprised to find a distinct lack of dust on the keys. But then again, there’s never dust in the compound. He figures that Pepper probably plays it, or something like that. 

He straightens the sheet music and then starts to play. It’s slow work, but he can close his eyes and see the beginnings of a watercolor painting. He’s just starting to put more energy into it when he hears someone come into the room. He quickly pokes his head out above the sheet music to see Tony leaning against the entryway.

“If you wanted to learn how to play the piano, you should have asked me.” His cinnamon-colored voice is already a comfort to see. Peter gives him an easy smile.

“Do you play?” His blue question floats over to Tony lazily as he walks over to the piano.

“My mom did. She taught me a few things and I taught myself a few more. Shove over.” Peter obediently scoots so Tony can sit beside him on the bench. “Any requests?”

Peter shakes his head. Tony just hums in response as he shuffles through the sheet music and pulls out a slightly-yellowed page. 

“This one’s a duet. Follow this--” he taps on one of the two parts “--it’s the easier one.”

Tony counts them in, and they start to play. Peter can’t quite keep up, but Tony slows to match his pace. 

Eventually, Peter takes his hands from the keys, choosing to simply close his eyes and listen to Tony’s music. Tony continued playing the melody alone as Peter leaned his head on his shoulder. 

The notes danced in a fireworks show just for him, full of vibrant color. 

\---

Tony tells FRIDAY to let Happy know they’re on their way down and when FRIDAY responds, Peter just laughs and laughs.

_ FRIDAY - Turquoise, sea glass. _

_ Happy - Slate gray, medieval castles, cement blocks. _

\---

Peter finally gets the all-clear to go patrolling again. He wonders how human something has to be before he sees a color for its voice. 

_ Karen - Green, emerald, the ocean. _

\---

It’s a quiet evening in the Parker apartment. Peter and May already had dinner, and are now winding down by working on homework and reading a book, respectively. 

Peter can’t pay attention to his homework. He’s had something on his mind ever since he thought about it on patrol earlier that day. He chews his lip in frustration before deciding to just _ say _something. 

“Hey May?” Peter’s words bubble out of him, mirroring the blue that shows up in his vision. 

“Yeah, sweetie?” She looks up from her book, shrouded in soft pink. 

“Do you have… any recordings of Ben?” Peter hates how weak his voice sounds. May doesn’t respond immediately. She smiles at him softly, her eyes already misty. 

“Let me get something from the closet.” 

May leaves to go to her bedroom and returns a few minutes later, holding an old shoebox. She sits next to Peter on the couch and opens it. It’s filled with pictures and CDs. It’s like the sun, Peter can’t look at it directly for too long before his eyes start to water. 

May cards her hand through his hair and they go through the memories together. 

As the night goes on it gets harder to tell if the blue he sees is from Ben’s recorded voice coming from the TV or his own choked sobs. 

\---

May gives him a long hug before he goes to bed that night.

_ Ben - Navy blue, overripe blueberries, the sky after the sun sets but before it’s night. _

_ Dad - Barn red, the suitcase gathering dust in the closet, a worn-out Iron Man shirt. _

_ Mom - Pale yellow, banana smoothies, the paint in the hallway bathroom. _

\--- 

Ned and Peter rope MJ into watching a Star Wars movie with them after school. 

_ Ned - Orange, tangerine, really old traffic cones. _

_ MJ - Lilac, May’s dress in her prom photo. _

_ Harrison Ford - Rusted orange, tabby cats. _

(Ned is delighted to have a similar color.)

\---

Tony, Pepper, and Peter are eating dinner at the compound together on a brisk Wednesday evening. Peter got picked up by Happy right after school for a surprise mid-week trip while May had to work late to cover for a coworker. She had thanked Tony and Pepper profusely, just barely believing them when they told her it was their pleasure. 

Peter has his eyes closed and his head tilted back against the chair as Tony and Pepper talk about Stark Industries, soaking in the colors of their conversation. Pepper’s silver and Tony’s cinnamon brown mesh nicely together. When they start to banter off each other, the brown almost looks like polished bronze. 

The first couple of times Peter did this, people thought he was asleep. With time, they realized that it’s just a new quirk. Whenever he can’t think of anything to contribute to a conversation, or he feels overwhelmed, he likes to close his eyes as people talk around him so he can watch the colors. Peter wishes he had a video of the time he listened to Tony and FRIDAY’s conversation while hanging from a web in the lab. The noise that came out of Tony when he noticed him there was _ unreal_. 

Peter’s neck prickles as their relaxing meal is interrupted by the sound of sparks and an open portal across the table from him. Dr. Strange steps through it, his wine-red voice demanding attention.

“I found a cure for Peter.”

Peter snaps to attention, taking in the sight of Tony and Pepper frozen in their discussion, a fork still hanging limply from Pepper’s hand. To their credit, they recover in record time. Dr. Strange barely gives them a moment to gather themselves before continuing in his monologue. Peter wonders if he has to practice what he’s going to say in front of a mirror before he portals somewhere; he goes through his speeches like a trained actor. 

“The attacker was just a novice. He intended for the original spell to act as an amplifier, eventually causing you to go blind and deaf. He didn’t take into account your enhanced nature, so it ended up being harmless.” Everyone lets out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding. 

No one brought it up, but Peter could tell everyone was walking on eggshells around him the past couple of weeks. They were all just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to drop to the ground convulsing because of some time-delayed aspect of the spell. He’s glad he can finally relax.

“Harmless besides the three-story fall,” Pepper adds, her silver chaining up the red in Peter’s vision. Dr. Strange looks sufficiently cowed, while Peter is just glad May isn’t there to chew him out. 

“Sorry, metaphysically harmless,” he pauses, giving a small apologetic smile to the table. “Either way, the cure is quick and painless. I can do it right now if you’re ready.” Pepper and Tony turn to look at Peter expectantly. 

“Wow, okay,” Peter bites the inside of his cheek as he figures out what to say, “I’m glad you figured it out, but I actually kind of… like it. Do I have to get the cure?” He looks around the table to gauge reactions, but everyone has their face carefully blank. 

“You’re sure there’s no chance of Peter being hurt by this?” Pepper’s silver voice strikes through his view. 

“To the extent of my knowledge, which I assure you extends quite far, he has a clean bill of health,” Dr. Strange confirms. There are a few beats of silence as his scarlet remark hangs in the air. 

“In that case, I think we were in the middle of dinner, Criss Angel,” Tony says dismissively, and Peter has to stifle a snort as the reddish-brown dust from Tony’s voice returns. 

“Very well,” Dr. Strange’s face is unreadable, “Let me know if there are any new developments.” There’s another fizzling sound, and he’s gone as quickly as he arrived. 

There are a few moments of silence after his departure, which is eventually broken by Tony complimenting Pepper’s cooking. Something about the entire situation breaks something in Peter, and he starts to laugh. 

“You alright there, kid?” Tony’s cinnamon voice is tinged with barely hidden concern. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You guys are just--” he laughs again, not sure why his eyes are starting to water “--You guys are great.”

Tony stammers, probably trying to think of a joke to deflect with. Pepper just smiles softly and pats Peter’s hand. 

“We love you too, Peter.”

\---

Tony and Peter work in the lab until late at night, listening to Tony’s dad-rock blaring through the speakers. 

_ Brian Johnson - Bright red, fire, roses. _

_ Ozzy Osbourne - Neon purple, tie-dye before it’s washed, Barney the Dinosaur. _

\---

Peter gets detention… again. At least he gets time to pass notes with MJ. 

_ Captain America - Forest green, pears. _

\---

Peter supposes it was only a matter of time before people started to ask him more about what he sees when someone talks. It’s hard to explain, but he is able to share a basic understanding of it to Tony and May as they sit around their slightly cramped dining room table in Queens. The weekly dinners at May and Peter’s apartment every Friday were May’s idea. It was part of her post-figuring out Spider-Man’s identity plan to be on the same page as Tony. At some point, the tone of them changed from strictly business to almost familial. 

“Does it get in the way during patrol? I don’t want you to get hurt because someone’s voice blocked your sight while you were fighting them.” May’s faint pink floating into Peter’s line of sight is a comfort.

“I can ignore it pretty easily. It’s not actually _ there_, so I can look through it when I need to. It’s nice to just watch sometimes, though.” The blue that appears moves more erratically than normal to compensate for his rambling. Tony nods to himself, and Peter knows that if it was an issue, he’d invent a way to get around it. 

“So kid,” Tony says, his voice in the same soft register that it always changes to when he visits the apartment, “What color am I?” Peter watches it appear around him for a moment before responding.

“Brown. Like cinnamon, or… wait a second.” Peter excuses himself from the table and goes to grab a photo from the fridge in the kitchen. It's a picture of himself, around two years old, holding a teddy bear close to his chest as he sleeps. He walks back over to the table and offers it to Tony.

“The same color as this,” he says, pointing to the bear captured in baby Peter’s tiny arms. Tony laughs loudly. 

“May, I’m going to need a copy of this for the lab. Something to humble the kid when he starts to get too many ideas.” Peter makes an indignant noise and looks to May, who just smiles and winks before taking the picture and returning it to the fridge. They eat in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds are the soft clink of silverware. 

“Brown... Why couldn’t I be something more exciting?” Tony says, successfully getting a laugh from the two Parkers. 

“Actually, remember last week when you helped me with the gang? When you talked through the suit, you were bright red.” Tony puffs up with pride as Peter and May continue to smile at him. 

“That’s not going to help his ego, Peter.” May ruffles his hair as she starts to gather the empty dishes. 

“May, let me help with those,” Tony offers, also getting up from his chair.

“No, you’re a guest here. Hire dishwashers in your own house,” May responds with a smirk, “You and Peter can go to the living room while I clean up so I don’t get distracted by your science-talk.” She gives Peter a pat on the arm as she passes by him getting out of his chair on her way to the kitchen sink. 

“No use arguing with her, kid. Let’s vamoose.” Tony puts a hesitant hand on Peter’s shoulder as he leads him to the living room. 

As soon as Peter sits on the couch, he feels the weight of this week’s stress press on him. He spreads out over the cushions, looking up at the ceiling. Tony quirks a brow at him. 

“Long week?” Peter likes to imagine that he hears genuine concern underneath the sarcasm in his voice. 

“Yeah. I had like a million tests and assignments, MJ scheduled two meetings for Decathalon this week instead of one, and Ned and I were supposed to hang out on Wednesday but I canceled on him so now he must hate me--” He cuts himself off, not wanting to annoy Tony with his teenage drama. 

“If best friends start to hate you after one rain-check, Rhodey and I wouldn’t have lasted past the first week of classes. Also, you’re Ned’s only connection to the Avengers. I doubt he’d give that up easily.”

Peter snorts. He slides his eyes over to meet Tony’s and sees a comforting look on his face.

“Anything I can do to help?” Peter hums, idly watching the shades of Tony’s voice float around him before he gets an idea. 

“Actually, can you-- uh, nevermind.” Peter ignores the nervous ripple in the blue that shows up in the corner of his eye. He looks back to the ceiling. 

“C’mon Pete, I thought we were over the whole ‘not telling me when something is wrong’ thing. I’m just a guy, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Peter flicks his eyes back to where Tony’s sitting. He really does look… normal. He’s just wearing a worn band tee with jeans, his new norm for the weekly dinners after an unfortunate incident involving pasta sauce, an expensive suit, and a very apologetic May. His hair is less gelled, he’s not wearing any of his sunglasses, and underneath the shoes that May made him take off at the door, he just has some store-brand socks on. If Peter ignores the finely groomed goatee and faint glow of the nanoparticle housing unit, he could just be another tenant in the building. It’s strangely comforting to see him like this, with all of his hard edges and metallic finish smoothed and sanded out. Peter comes out of his reverie to see Tony looking at him expectantly. 

“Can you… read to me? If not, that’s totally okay! I just like watching your voice, especially when I’m feeling stressed out, because it’s comforting to me, and I’m definitely kind of stressing out right now, so I could--” Tony cuts him off with a look.

“Kid, all you had to do was ask. I do, despite what you may have heard, know how to read,” Tony successfully gets Peter to let out a small laugh, his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Any requests?”

Peter shakes his head, leaning back further into the couch.

“Work emails it is. Pepper would actually be proud of me right now--” he pulls out his phone, “--Alright. This one’s from Charles Healey. He says, ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Stark…”

Peter sighs and closes his eyes as Tony continues to read aloud. He watches Tony’s voice appear like cinnamon snow. As he relaxes, the walls he puts around his senses slowly come down. He can hear May’s pink voice singing to herself in the kitchen as the sink runs. He starts to hear the murmurs of people walking on the street below. The colors mix and swirl in front of him, each individual person adding their own unique shade. His vision becomes an impressionist painting, one that pulsates to the beat of his heart. It belongs in a museum, but it lives solely in his eyes. Something the world made specifically for him. 

His very own symphony of colors. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun to write- I was proud of it, then really self-conscious of it, then I got a ton of homework assigned, but it's finally here! I'm just going to post it, close my eyes, and hope everyone likes it lol
> 
> Also, I don't have synesthesia, nor do I know anyone who has it, but it's so gd interesting to me! I honestly wish I had it, it sounds honestly really poetic. I've seen some art created by people with it and I've read a lot about it, but I doubt this is an accurate depiction. But I highly recommend people research it a bit, it's super interesting!  
(Also Spidey's officially back in the MCU woo!)
> 
> Come talk on tumblr at [spider-beep.tumblr.com](spider-beep.tumblr.com)!


End file.
